


Raised From Perdition

by runsinthefamily



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel before he was Cas, Hell, Hurt Dean Winchester, Perdition, Rescue, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:59:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runsinthefamily/pseuds/runsinthefamily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minific about the holy rescue mission that yanked Dean from Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raised From Perdition

When Castiel broke open the gates of Hell and set foot on its unhallow ground it rang like a gong beneath his tread. 

His brothers and sisters streamed past him, azure and white and gold, silver swords held high, their Grace a blinding agony in the red unlight of the Pit. Damned souls cringed away, wailing, and demons howled in fury and fear before surging forward, claws and teeth and rusty, barbed blades. The two sides fell on one another and the impact shook the walls of Perdition.

Castiel opened his wings and flew, the bright point of an angelic spear that stabbed deep into the Pit. Cinders and ash stung against him. The misery of the doomed smote his heart like a fist. Uriel and Balthazar were close behind him, the glory of their Grace a balm and a solace. He honed his focus to a needle’s point and hurled himself into the seething darkness of Alistair’s domain, seeking his goal.

Dean Winchester. The Righteous Man.

It was their hope, even so late as they were, that he had not given in. His father had held out as no other soul in the history of the world had ever done. A hundred years on the rack and the table and the fire had not broken John Winchester, perhaps his son was made of the same iron.

Castiel descended, a star burning brighter for the filth that surrounded him. Ten of his brethren still followed, peeling away as he went to guard the pathway out, to hold his retreat. One fell even as Castiel saw his objective and spread his wings wide to slow himself. Balthazar stepped into the gap, astride his dying sister’s body, and beat back the demon lord who had felled her. Castiel and Uriel alighted together in the wide wet mouth of a cave. Hell’s substance groaned and trembled beneath their feet.

_I will go in_ , said Castiel.

_I will remain,_ said Uriel, turning his back and raising his sword and his light against the oncoming rush. 

One on one, demons stood no chance against a warrior of God, but here, their numbers were nigh unlimited. It was only a matter of time. Castiel left his brother and entered the cave.

It was close, and dark, and cold. The walls wept blood and urine. Cages held the souls of murderers - fratricides, mostly - who shielded their eyes from Castiel’s glory and scrabbled at the walls. He did not look at them. They were none of his concern. Ahead, a voice murmured and encouraged, a low whine that somehow cut through the screams and howls, that scraped and plucked and insinuated. 

_**Like that, yes. Yes. And now, pressure. And now, the knife. You are my very favorite, did you know? Yes, my favorite, my best, my sweet boy. Your father never loved you as I do, my precious darling, no, he didn’t. No, indeed. Never understood, never knew you. I know, you want the fire now. The fire. Good, so good, my lovely boy.** _

Castiel swept aside the grey rags that barred the way and stepped into the room at the end of the cave.

A table. A soul upon it, female, though it was difficult to tell at this point. Alistair, his cracked and bleeding visage as hideous as anything Castiel had yet seen in Hell. The Righteous Man stood in front of him, hunched forward over the writhing, shredded woman, stained to the elbow in her gore. Alistair rested his hands upon his shoulders, pushed puffy, pustuled lips up to his ear. 

Dean Winchester lifted his face and Castiel saw black threads in his eyes, spidering out from his pupils, besmirching the green of his irises.

_**Too late, angel**_ , said Alistair. _**Ten years too late. He’s mine now.**_

_No,_ said Castiel. _I claim him._

He flung his wings wide, unleashed his Grace, and scoured the cave with holy light.

The soul on the table screamed again, even as the hurts done to it were healed and the bonds burned away. Alistair shrieked and flung himself back, the walls opening to swallow him and shield him from Castiel’s fury.

Dean Winchester stood still, swaying back a little as the light beat at him, scorched him, razing those parts of him that had begun to take on demonic taint. He stood, and took the blast, and did not cringe away. 

Something unfamiliar uncurled in Castiel’s breast.

_Dean,_ he said. _I have come to take you out of this place._

“No,” said Dean.

_Yes_ , said Castiel, and stepped closer.

“Someone else,” said Dean. “Not me.”

_You,_ said Castiel. _And no other._

Dean looked at him and Castiel was amazed to see tears in his eyes. The black curled against the white of his eyes, spreading even as Castiel watched, and yet he wept. “No,” he said. “You don’t know -“

_I know everything_ , said Castiel, and swept his wings about Dean. At their touch, oily black smoke began to rise off Dean, blisters popping up on his limbs, on his face. His hands spasmed open and the brand he’d held clattered to the ground. 

“No.” Dean pushed at Castiel, hopelessly, his hands burning and smoking where they contacted Castiel’s Grace. “I’m not. You can’t. Someone else. Someone else!” The black was retreating from his eyes, his soulstuff growing whole in Castiel’s influence. It only seemed to make him more desperate. “I - you - I belong - Alistair!” he screamed, like a child calling for his father. “Alistair!”

Castiel caught Dean up against him, arm crossing Dean’s chest, right hand clasping Dean’s left shoulder, and bore him away.

Dean fought, furiously, his ragged soul burning so bright that Castiel could scarcely bear it. He gripped Dean tight and dragged him up, wounded brothers and sisters falling in behind as Castiel retreated through Perdition, back to the gate. 

“Someone else,” Dean pleaded, weeping, despairing.

_For this we bleed and die?_ Uriel demanded, catching a blow meant for Castiel’s flank. _For this?_ He glared at Dean, at the wretched, battered state of him. _It wants to stay!_

“Someone else,” Dean whispered, his head lolling back against Castiel’s shoulder.

_No_ , said Castiel, as the gates of Hell whipped by, and the host of Heaven escaped with their prize. His palm scorched Dean’s shoulder as his Grace drove the last of the taint away. 

“You and no other,” he breathed into Dean Winchester’s soul, and carried him from Hell.


End file.
